Effigy
by MissPopularMIZ
Summary: You will teach me how to love again. And deep inside of me, you will ignite the fire, burn me until I feel.


You kiss my lips. Frozen lips. Salty lips. Chapped lips. Slowly. Reverently.

You take your time tasting me. Tasting death against your pulsing veins. You kiss a carotid artery that has long since stopped beating. No burning thirst to quench. I feel nothing.

There's nothing here for you to take. I am the one who will certainly drag you down. Wrap you in my darkness. Reenact your nightmares.

* * *

><p>Sometimes, I fell like tearing you apart; remove all of what you mean to me. Open my battered, bruised body. Get a sharp scalpel and dissect. Separate the you inside of me. Put my bare hands and claw.<p>

After all, to my body, you're but a parasite.

* * *

><p>Cut. Cut, even tear my own skin, in order to remove you from myself while twisting the sharp blade. I won't hurt you. But I'll make you feel. Make you suffer. Make you beg.<p>

Slowly.

Peacefully.

Sweetly.

Death is simply too easy. And revenge is simply too sweat.

In it, oh Life, you do not live; you merely exist.

* * *

><p>What gives proof of your existence in this cold gray world is the only thing that still resides inside of you. And it is no soul. But a tattered heart.<p>

For others, it will be an identity card long forgotten, full of fake and foreign names that easily roll out of your tongue; fake data about your "supposedly" life (but it doesn't matter because you have a ton of these rectangular lies inside a cold metal box in the old hacienda). A passport. Two; three; a hundred. A gun. Metal cold against your equally cold skin. Some watches. Two knives. One photo: Present. There is no Past; there is no Future.

Paranoia has since long left you.

Insomnia has claimed you and still resides inside of your spirit. You have stopped caring about your soul – long dammed by the original sin. Insomnia is an old and comforting friend. It claims you with burning fingers. Not every other week. But all the time you try to close your eyes.

Death permeates your skin. Calls your name. Softly. Slips inside of you and makes you shiver. Makes you sweat. Makes you delirious. Makes you blank.

* * *

><p>You're sweet melancholy.<p>

You're not a love like others. You're a feeling: independent (I just can't get you out of my head), rare (when there's no heart there's no soul), unknown (what would I know of love even if it came, slapped me in the face and shouted "here I am"?). And extremely beautiful.

A pure, real Love (not the first one; the best), assassin love, suicide love. Something difficult to express even if using all the words in all the languages known to mankind; even worse to fight against it.

* * *

><p>I can feel your heat against my freezing shoulder. Tender; oh so tender. And strong willed, I have to say; trying to kiss me back to life.<p>

But your body will soon join mine. Scorch me with your kisses. Mark me with your bites.

Join. Ascend. Tense. Cry. Release.

And then repeat. Utter you love me and expect the words in return.

And tonight, just for this night, I will give in and utter them back to you. Look into your mismatched eyes and see the reaction. I know you don't expect them to slip through my lips in the death of the night. And for once, I will allow myself to give all of me to you. Be a slave. A white canvas in your hands.

You will teach me how to love again. And deep inside of me, you will ignite the fire, burn me until I feel. Until I feel everything and nothing at all. But you have a specific aim: you need, deserve, want my love. And from this day on, I will give it to you. No reservations (even though I was always so good at being alone).

* * *

><p>You will light the flaming torch and I will take your trembling hand. Guide our joined hands to my feet. I will look at my effigy, carelessly whisper a hushed goodbye and burn it down to the ground. An inquisition bonfire, if you must. We will celebrate. We will rejoice. And I will be free. Our tears will mingle. But tears help; your tears will move my world (what wise man doesn't mingle his kisses with her tears to create new memories?).<p>

And tonight I will really be the real G. Callen. All for you, my love. And I will die in your arms and from the ash a new me will arise.

And we will be one. Virgil was right from the beginning:_ Omnia vincit amor et nos cedamus amori_ . I have found you and I'll surrender. And you won't resent me. You'll stand by me.

After all, isn't real Love but an act of endless forgiveness?


End file.
